Youngjae wants the infinity that doesn't exist in finite. He believes the world is full of possibilities and wonders, but none of them are meant for him. As he stares down on the crashing waves beneath him, he contemplates and lets himself fantasize briefly.

Everything is so gray this morning. Along with his thoughts and feelings, everything is muddled. He thinks about diving down below. Taking out the letter in his pocket, he tears it to pieces and lets it fall to the water as it swallows it up. It melts beneath the freezing shallow.

He wonders if he were to fall into the below zero water, whether he'll resurface. As long as death isn’t his ultimate goal, maybe he could be rescued by a benevolent mermaid. Afterall, the ocean surrounds itself with myths and legends. Mostly they're of the typical ones, like krakens and sirens, but then there are also some about people made from the ocean's foam. Youngjae doesn't believe in any of them, though. Which is all too ironic. But they're fun, he supposes.

Perched upon a cliff and staring down on rocks weathered by endless waves, Youngjae wonders how he finds himself here at this very moment. He’s a thousand miles away from home and it’s just too cold for anyone to be out by the coast. Even the seagulls above him struggle to carry themselves on the rushing gusts of wind. Youngjae finds it a bit amusing when he observes them trying to land, only to be pushed back by a furious gale.

The tide comes in and recedes back, over and over. The approaching storm clouds speed up this process, and high tide draws ever closer. By the time Youngjae feels the first drop on his hand, he has little time to react before a downpour consumes everything around him.

His thin coat clings to his body and he’s quickly lost all feeling in his fingers. His teeth chatter, but they eventually stop. His body conforms with the cold. The human body responds to cold temperature by feigning warmth inside. He’s burning up on some level, but on another, not really.

Youngjae can barely feel the hand covering his.

“Daehyun.” Youngjae greets, eyes still focused on the waves below.

Under odd circumstances, Youngjae and Daehyun meet when Youngjae’s fifteen. Well, that’s the official start of their relationship, but Youngjae’s always known him, to an extent. Youngjae remembers him from his first rainfall. He’s a toddler at that time, staring out the window. It’s his earliest memory.

He’s babbling as he watches the raindrops cascade down, colliding with others as they fall. He’s fascinated by the sight, the sound, and the smell this unknown weather brings. Youngjae wishes he could bottle up this scent, the moment when the earth is being bathed and soaking up nutrients.

And what he sees, when he looks a bit further out, past the drops, is the silhouette of a man. A man so casually wandering outside without an umbrella or raincoat. He looks so comfortable outside, as if the rain were a second skin and hugging him. He blends in perfectly. So easy to miss. The sight embeds itself into Youngjae’s brain.

So, when he’s seven, and it’s raining again, Youngjae is certain that is definitely the man, from his memory, strolling around in the puddles.

Also, when he’s twelve and fourteen.

But it’s only at fifteen when he approaches him at a full sprint. Water crashes around him with each step as Youngjae runs through the puddles to catch up to the stranger. Youngjae has to know and understand. His red umbrella lays a dozen feet back from them, forgotten and collecting rain water.

Youngjae latches himself to the sleeve of his coat. Youngjae’s hunched over and gasping, his hair clinging to his face. That’s when Daehyun spins around, looking as ageless and beautiful as he always does, even when surprised.

And they meet again the next time it rains and every time. They never meet when the sun is out, however, and rarely when it is cloudy and dark. But Youngjae treasures each encounter with his heart.

Youngjae’s favorite memory is when he’s nineteen and Daehyun is just staring at him. It’s one of those rare times when it isn’t raining, yet. But, God, is it cold.

They’re sitting on the park’s picnic table. The wood is digging a little into his skin, and it's uncomfortable, but Youngjae doesn’t really feel like moving. They don’t say anything and it’s quiet, there might be a cricket here and there, though. All the random walkers have left, leaving the park barren. The teenagers playing hidenseek that evening are gone as well. It’s really no surprise the park’s empty at nine pm.

The stars are layered upon the sky and Youngjae thinks he sees a few constellations, although their exact names and shapes escape him.

It’s kind of amazing when neither of them are talking. The silence isn’t unwelcomed though, just a bit surprising.

However, it’s the stillness and quiet that makes Youngjae hyper aware of how close his fingers are to touching Daehyun’s hand. They’re right next to each other, barely a meter apart. Youngjae can feel his fingers twitching, but he holds back. There’s something about this moment that he doesn’t feel like breaking, or maybe he’s just scared. At any rate, Youngjae doesn’t want to change anything for the world.

Youngjae’s the first to look away though, because he always does. Despite his desire for preserving every moment with Daehyun, Youngjae’s the one that leaves first or breaks the moment. Always, always, always. Youngjae’s the catalyst that ruins everything. He understands the nervous sparks he feels in his hands are just sparks, nothing as tangible as he’d like. With a short pause in between his movements, he draws his hand away and lays it on his lap. Daehyun seems to get the signal and draws his own hand back, as well.

Youngjae didn’t know silence could be so deafening.

A few drops of random water lands on his hair and he looks up. A stray droplet hits his cheek. The water’s cold and trickles down his face, it makes him shiver. Youngjae looks at Daehyun, wondering why he’s making it rain all of a sudden.

Daehyun doesn’t quite respond to his stare, instead it’s raining harder.

“Dae-” he’s cut off with a kiss.

The simple contact of their lips makes Youngjae feel a mess of things and whatever it is, he can feel it to his fingertips and toes. It’s only a brush of their lips, but the rain is also there, participating in their brief touch. When Daehyun pulls away, leaving Youngjae speechless, the rain take up where Daehyun left off. The drops meet the spot where Daehyun’s lips once were and it feels like a shower of kisses.

“People like to be kissed in the rain, right?” Daehyun asks with this sort of half smile that’s not quite a smirk, but neither is it a grin. It’s just Daehyun.

Youngjae would reply, but his teeth are chattering and he thinks he’s been overcome with a fit of laughter. He falls off the soggy table, dragging Daehyun down with him because well, it’s Daehyun’s fault that he feels the way he does.

Youngjae can afford a cold.

They don’t talk about the kiss again, in fact, Youngjae doesn’t see Daehyun again for a year. It was just too sunny and bright all that time after.

When Daehyun does reappear, it’s nothing amazing like Youngjae had fantasized over and over again. Because Daehyun’s just kind of standing there, in the middle of an empty street at night, with his arms wide open. There’s just enough space for Youngjae to fit. He’s got on this smile that is just so cliched. Youngjae’s stomach churns when he looks at his face, like a dozen butterflies have just emerged from their cocoons. It looks like he’s awaiting Youngjae to run into his arms and embrace him, no doubt in mind that the younger boy would reciprocate and obey, but that’s not how things work.

People don’t just disappear and then come back, expecting to be readily accepted.

And, though, Youngjae knows the storybook tale tells him that it should make sense to cry and break apart in Daehyun’s arms, he can’t. It’s not pride, it’s not selfishness, it’s just this feeling he can’t get rid of. It’s somewhere in his chest an average person might call his heart. It’s right in the smack dab center of the damn thing and it feels like it’s being crushed and pulled like clay before being molded whole again just so the process can repeat. He can’t explain it. The butterflies in him are trying to escape in the most frantic and self-preservation like style they can manage.

Youngjae punches Daehyun square in the jaw as the first rain drop in almost two years hits the pavement. Daehyun his head and his eyes droop, in a way to ask ‘do you feel better now?’ Youngjae gnaws on his lips as he tries to keep his emotions stable, which lasts all of three seconds before he crumples into Daehyun’s arms. His breathing can’t keep up with his sobs as rain falls all around them,

He missed him--so, so much.

And Daehyun’s gone, just like that, for another three years. The only difference is, from the last time, is that it did rain. But Youngjae just could never find him. He waited, always going out in each storm or drizzle, frantically searching. At some point, though, Youngjae had to stop because he didn’t think his sanity could possibly take much more. So he leaves. Far away. Probably like Daehyun did. A thousand miles away from home.

“I wrote you a letter.” Youngjae announces nonchalantly, as if it hasn’t been four years.

Daehyun squeezes his hand, “Where is it?”

“I tore it up and threw it into the ocean.” Youngjae looks down at their interlocking fingers, “Are you going to stay this time?” It isn’t so much a question, but a plead. He can’t look at Daehyun’s face, if he does, he’ll have a breakdown.

Daehyun takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words, but defaults to a “I don’t know.”

“Then, please, hold onto my hand for a bit longer.” Youngjae rests his head on Daehyun’s shoulder and feels the rain kissing his skin.

“I can do that.”